


Birth

by OtakuElf



Series: Strawberries and Cream [5]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: F/M, Married Couple, Parenthood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-17
Updated: 2013-02-19
Packaged: 2017-11-14 11:10:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 7,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/514598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OtakuElf/pseuds/OtakuElf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>So... people with principals sometimes find that the principals leave them alone late at night, with no one to give them soup and a cool hand on their forehead when they're not feeling well.</p><p>And sometimes that's enough.  It's good to fight for principals and all.  But it's good to accept love when you find it too. </p><p>Just my opinion.</p>
        </blockquote>





	1. Family

The mage stared down at the angry, wrinkled red face screaming rage at being pushed out of a perfectly comfortable, if increasingly cramped womb into a bright and unexpectedly loud world. For a man who had delivered so many babies, Anders felt displaced looking at this creature, this joint venture on behalf of Hawke and himself. So trite, amazement at one’s offspring. Such tiny fingernails, ears, the regular number of toes and fingers. 

Anders had always known why spirit healers avoided casting on their loved ones. Knowing and understanding were two entirely different situations. Marion had been in no danger. She had handled her pregnancy well. It had certainly agreed with her. But labor was nerve wracking, even when it went well. Serving as the midwife’s assistant gave him something for his hands to do, binding and cutting the umbilical while Ariamne instructed Marion on how to deliver the afterbirth. Dark blue eyes shown very much darker than Marion’s Fereldan blue. Anders wondered if his son's eyes would change to Marion’s distinctive Fereldan eye color, or Ander’s honey brown. Anders could not remember any eyes from his family other than his mother’s, a golden brown that he saw whenever Anders looked into a mirror. Someone in his family must have had blue, or some other light, more Anderfels’ color.

“Your daughter, Marion, is a son,” the spirit healer informed his wife with a smile. The smile came easily as he placed their child on his wife’s stomach.

Marion stretched her arms for the baby. “Does it matter to you, Anders?” she asked.

Anders watched her follow the midwife’s instructions as she attempted to nurse the baby, watched the tiny rosebud mouth latch on to what had been his province until now. “I’m a little surprised, that is all." Anders caressed her cheek, grinning down at the tired countenance before saying, “Our little mage.”

“I supposed there will be no help for that, will there?” Marion was surprised at the fatigue she could hear in her own voice.

“Afraid not,” was Anders amused response, “Only question is ‘what school?’, I expect.”

“Any school but blood magic, love,” was Marion’s worn reply.

Anders made a warning face. “Careful, or you’ll jinx us!”

Marion pouted in the baby’s direction. “No doubt, but we’ll manage with whatever the Maker throws at us. We’ve already done that, haven’t we?”

They sighed together, heavily, and started to laugh together as well. “What shall we name him? I am guessing that Bethany Isabela is out now.” They had been so sure the baby would be a girl.

“Varrik Fenris,” Marion proposed.

“So long as we don’t name him Sebastian, that works for me,” Anders pulled a face. “Or Justice. No disrespect intended,” Anders often spoke as though Justice was still listening.

“Varrik Fenris Carver,” Marion added, “since Carver won’t be having children so far as we know.”

Anders pointed out, “He has us, love.”

He loved making Marion giggle. The laugh remained in her voice as she said, “That he does. Send Merrill to tell him that he has a nephew, and to let the Warden Commander know. She’ll make it through the Wending Woods without alerting the Templars besieging Vigil’s Keep, I think.”

“No,” Anders was definite, “We’ll send a message through a non-mage source. Best if we all just stay here in our quiet little holding and hope they are busy thinking about the Keep's defenses and not about what type of holders are living out here in the wilds. Meanwhile, you sleep. Time enough for Merrill and the rest when you’ve had some peace.”

It wasn’t like Marion to acquiesce, but she had fallen asleep by the time Anders had his hand on the door. “I’ll stay with her,” Ariamne’s accent, pure Denerim Alienage, was calming for some reason Anders could not understand.


	2. Hawke and Carver

"Are you mad, Marion?" Carver was holding his nephew gingerly.

"In what way?" Marion wrapped herself more snugly in the quilted bed cover, as the fire was burning out and she didn't want to get up to tend it.

"Merrill came to Vigil's Keep! Merrill! 

What would she have done if the Templars were still there?" Carver looked so funny, trying to berate his sister and not wake the baby in his arms.

"Carver," Marion was fond of her brother and let it show in spite of his grouchy face, "Admit that you wanted to see her..."

"I don't," it was a shout, quickly controlled, "Want to see her if it means she will get caught by the blighted Templars! 

You know they're crazy to get their hands on any apostate mages. They want an excuse to nab the Warden mages! That's not even keeping in mind that Merrill's a known blood mage!"

"So, marry her," Marion smirked, "and bring her to the Vigil permanently."

Carver dropped his mouth open. Blinking at her, he looked down as the baby cooed sleepily. "Would you like a little cousin, eh? Varric?" Carver spoke to the sleeping child.

"He can't hear you while he's sleeping, Carver," Anders entered the room bearing an armful of wood for the fire. 

Dressed in the rough tunic and breeches of a local farmer, Anders stacked the wood and tended to the fire, asking over his shoulder, "Are you thinking of getting a wife, Carver?"

Marion blew her husband a kiss, "I suggested he ask Merrill."

"Good Maker and Andraste!" Anders exclaimed.

Carver angrily asked, "What?"

Anders interrupted him, "Carver, ... one, she's a blood mage. Two she's Dalish, and I don't think they marry, let alone breed, outside of their own people. And three... well, she's Merrill!" Anders incredulity was amusing to Marion.

Carver snarled, "I'm a Gray Warden now. It's not like I can marry and have a normal life... oh, wait. Isn't that what you and Marion are trying to do? How many kids do you have planned?"

Anders snickered, "Normal and Merrill?" as he went to kiss his wife.

Marion pulled his pigtail and answered Carver, "We'll have as many children as we please. It's our decision, isn't it?"

Carver made a face at the pair of them. Shifting his focus back to the small being in his arms, he tried to imagine. A child, his child, his and Merrill's baby, a small and delicate thing with black hair. Well, delicate if the baby took after Merrill. Wait, what was he even thinking?

Still, wouldn't it be something? If, er... he hadn't become a Gray Warden, sent off to dangerous missions, fighting darkspawn, tainted with darkspawn blood, and it would be nice to have someone to come home to. No, he wasn't going to be of any interest to Merrill, who treated him with the same friendliness she gave everyone. "So," he asked casually, still looking down at small Varric, "Is Merrill around?"

Marion and Anders started laughing together. Taking pity Anders called through the open doorway for the Dalish mage. Merrill fluttered in and carried giant muscular Carver and the tiny baby off, an amazing feat for one so petite.

"You had to bring that up," Anders shoved Marion over gently on the bed, and made claim to part of the coverlet in the fire warmed room. 

She curled into his arm and the pair listened to the conversation going on in the next room, trying not to laugh.


	3. Carver and Merrill

“I heard you shouting, Carver,” Merrill had one finger inside the curl of the tiny hand, “Were you and Anders fighting again?”

Carver was enjoying her closeness. Sitting in a roughly made wooden chair, tree limbs with the bark still on them and upholstered with woven cushions, with the baby in his arms and Merrill leaning over his shoulder. All he had to do was turn his head and he was close enough to kiss her. Merrill, not the baby, of course not, the baby was a boy after all. She smelled like wood smoke and the tea that was steeping on the hearth. “No,” he told the Dalish woman, “Marion was teasing me.”

“I envy you, you know,” Merrill’s voice was in his ear as she played with the baby, “You and your sister are so close. 

Close in an emotional way, not just in the same place. And you’re so different too.”

“Yeah, well, Bethany and I were more alike, I guess. Although Bethany said that Marion and I were more like father. She was more like mother. Even though Marion looks more like mother did. Bethany and I look like our father. 

But with Bethany I could talk and she’d understand. Marion doesn’t understand me much, I think,” Carver leaned his head a little so that it rested against Merrill’s arm.

Merrill smiled over at the dark haystack of a head. Carver was so physical. She enjoyed when he was close, and leaned on her like this. “Well, it’s still good that you have her. Hawke, I mean. 

Of course that means you have Anders too. He’s a brother now, even if it’s just a brother in law.”

Carver groaned, “Don’t remind me.”

There was a noise from the other side of the bedroom door. Had it been, “I heard that”? No, that was a good solid door. Marion and Anders were probably getting into a “discussion” about something again.

“When do you think he’ll do something other than sleep?” Carver asked absently, looking at the new member of his family.

Merrill smiled, “Oh, it won’t be for some time. He’ll sleep and eat and that will be about it except for the looking. You can talk to him Carver, but he won’t be up for playing wallop for years.”

Carver snorted, “I never learned to play wallop. That’s more Gamlen’s thing.”

“What did you play when you were a boy?” Merrill wondered what human children played.

“Knights and darkspawn sometimes, sometimes it was the Hero of the River Dane and Orlesians,” Carver winced to think of that, knowing that Logaine’s treachery had almost destroyed them all the way it had destroyed his friends at Ostagar, “Templars were often the enemy. I didn’t like having to be the Templar, but I was the only one without magic.

Of course, it was fun to pretend to smite them and take away their magic. But I always lost in the end.”

“That sounds a bit cruel,” Merrill said thoughtfully.

“Kids are cruel, Merrill. Is it any different with Dalish children?” Carver thought back to Anders words.

“Yes, and no. Children are such a cause for rejoicing, that when they do come, they are welcomed. But then they become the responsibility of the clan. We’re taught to be part of the community. We’re taught that we must bring in game, or food, or learn tasks suitable to our place there. If we make a mistake we are told of it by anyone, not just our parents. And when we play it’s in the woods or outlands as scouts, or brave hunters, or those of the Dales facing the Exalted Marches, or the people of Arlathan fighting the Tevinters. 

In that way it’s not much different from your play, I would say. And all people can be cruel, even good people.

The people of my clan were good people. Things just... didn’t work out the way I had planned them.”

“None of them were your family, though,” Carver had never thought to ask her before.

“Oh, no. I left my old clan when I was young and showed signs of magic. I was apprenticed to Keeper Marethari because she needed a First, and I was so eager to see the world. Then I met Tamlen, and we …

I thought I would never be leaving them,” Merrill’s voice was sad as it always was when speaking of the clan, “I thought that when Marethari died I would take her place. Not that I would be responsible for her death.”

Carver spoke without thought, “She was stupid. There were better ways to handle it.”

“Were there?” Merrill did not look at Carver now, “Sometimes I wonder if everything would have happened the same no matter what I did.

“But then, I wouldn’t have met you, would I? Would you like some tea, Carver?” Merrill moved up and away to the fire, and Carver ground his teeth in frustration. 

“Merrill?”

“Yes Carver?” Merrill handed him a scaldingly hot mug of tea, probably overly sweetened with honey. He kept it carefully away from the child.

“It was important to me that we met you,” Carver wished words came to him as easily as they fell from Marion’s lips, “I mean, YOU are important to me.”

“Thank you! You’re important to me too, Carver,” Merrill had both hands wrapped around her mug of tea and was staring down into the highly sweetened depths, lost in thoughts.

Carver huffed, an impatient sound, trying not to wake or drop the baby. He jumped as the door to the bedroom opened, Anders appeared and held out his arms to take little Varric. Baby firmly in place in the crook of one arm the brother in law snitched the mug from Carver’s other hand, and hipped the door back open to disappear into the bedroom once more. With a kick the wooden door slammed shut behind him.

Merrill looked at the door with wide eyes, “That was peculiar.”

Carver muttered something that might have been “blighted matchmakers!”

Merrill looked from the door to the Gray Warden and blinked, then blushed. Tilting her head she seemed to think better of speaking, watching Carver as he stood up, towering over her. “Merrill...“ Carver paused thinking ‘Maker, I’m bad at this’, then, “If you were still with your clan, to whom would I go to ask permission to court you?”

A small smile curved Merril’s wide mouth. She did not answer his question, instead, “I suppose that you could ask me, Carver. I’m sitting right here.”

“Well, yeah. I suppose so. Merrill, may I court you?” Carver had turned a bright shade of maroon with the power of his blushing.

“Why yes, Carver. I would like that,” Merrill had turned a lighter shade, more of a scarlet to her cheeks now.

There was noise beyond the bedroom door. Carver and Merrill both looked toward the door. Maker, what were they doing in there? “Would you like to go for a walk then?” he said instead of commenting on the noise.

“Yes, why don’t we? There is little privacy here, as you may have noticed,” was Merrill’s reply.

They left in moderate silence, and after the room was still the wooden door slowly opened, “They’re gone,” came Anders voice.

“Maker’s blessing!” came Marion’s, “I wish I was not too tired to dance!”

“We’ll dance at the wedding,” was Anders sensible reply.


	4. Merrill and Velanna

They were in the Wending Wood, perched on a ridge and idly watching the Sylvans. “You are insane to even consider him... this!” Velanna rebuked Merrill sharply.

“You have fought at his side, Leth’allin,” Merrill replied.

The dark haired Dalish woman’s cheerful tones were normally at odds with Velanna’s edgy responses and comments. This evening was no different except in the sharpness of their contrast. Merrill if anything was even calmer in this discussion with the bitter Velanna.

“Fighting next to someone is in no way similar, nor to have sex with a human,” Velanna’s normally sour expression was angry, “Were you planning on breeding with this shem?”

“This ‘shem’ is your brother, is he not?” Merrill could be sly when it suited her.

“he is a fellow Gray Warden. Only. My sister is missing and I still search for her. The others are dead. He is *nothing* like my family or my clan,” Vellana grudgingly admitted, “Though he has been helping me to look for Seranni.”

Dialogue with Velanna was no more difficult than argument with Marethari, with Anders, Fenders, or Sebastian.

“So...” Velanna started digging in the loam with her toes and concentrating deeply on that process.

“Hmmm?” came Merrill’s chirpy tone.

“Have you...,” Velanna cleared her throat,” Carver is such a large human...”

Merrill looked over at Velanna as if in confusion, “Well, yes? He is tall and strongly built. Not s big as a Qunari would be, I suppose.”

Velanna froze, then shook her head vigorously, “Merrill, I didn’t...”

Merrill gave Velanna a sly look that spoke volumes. “I’m just curious,” Velanna was uncharacteristically subdued, “if he was in proportion?”

“Well, I don’t know,” Merrill said thoughtfully, “Carver hasn’t even kissed me yet.”

Velanna blinked, “I thought you said he was courting you.”

“Veeeeeeery sloooowly,” was Merrill’s reply.

Velanna started to laugh, and Merrill said with resignation, “I may have to make some moves of my own first. He seems rather shy for a human.”

Velanna laughed even harder, and Merrill was forced to join in. They had reached the sighing stage of a really good laugh when the Dalish realized that the Silvans were down below staring up at them through the brush. If trees could look confused, then these did. That set them off again.

Merrill was relaxed. It was good for Velanna to laugh. She was wound too tight most times. But being Merrill, she worried the subject, “Really, she said thoughtful, “I know humans and elves and dwarves are sexually compatible because I’ve seen all three at the Blooming Rose. And heard Isabela talk about sex with them all.

Templars, apparently, favor the Dwarven prostitutes though that might just be in Kirkwall. I think it’s because Dwarves are resistant to magic, so they think they won’t have problems with possession.”

Velanna snorted at that. She knew all about the possessed Templars that the Hero of Ferelden had encountered, and had heard stories from Anders, Merrill, and Hawke. No guarantees where spirits were involved, just as there were no guarantees when humans were either.

“Not that I’ve looked at female genetalia of each race either,” Merrill was fair, “Aside from personal experience.”

Merrill’s rambling did have a purpose. Often it allowed the Elvhen First to ask questions that would have otherwise been considered extremely rude. Or unwelcome. To certain veeeery prickly individuals. Such as Velanna. So here it went, “Nathaniel...”

That was as far as she got. Velanna might have been waiting for that topic, so quick was her response, “What? Is that all everyone thinks about? Nathaniel Howe is polite to me. Nothing more!”

Merrill turned her head to look directly at Velanna, her eyebrows raised. Silence stretched between them, for Merrill knew when to wait. As did Velanna, since they had both received Keeper training. Velanna however was filled with guilty thoughts about her fellow Warden. Merrill had guilt. But she had also a firm faith in her friends, Hawke and Carver, and to her the path was clear.

Finally it came sulkily, “I am not attracted to the human.”

“To Nathaniel?” Merrill chirped.

“Humans are big. Grotesque. And...” Velanna flopped backwards onto the ground, “Creators! I cannot believe this will not go away!”

Merrill leaned back on one elbow, turned toward her friend, “Who has been talking to you about it? Other than me, anyway?”

A growl, “Anders commented on it when Nathaniel and I met your boat.”

“That was over a year ago, Velanna. Has he said anything since?” Merrill was genuinely curious.

“No,” it was grudging.

“Ah, well,” Merrill said, “Who else?”

“Oghren,” it was said defensively, because after all, who took Oghren seriously. Not even his wife. 

“Then, because Anders said something once, and Oghren teases, it’s an issue?” Merrill teased.

Velanna sighed, “Sigrun comments on his physical attributes whenever I am around. She says he has a nice frame, or makes weapons related comments asking if he has a nice blade to go with those curves. By which, apparently, she means his bow. Not his arse.”

Merrill laughed, “I was with Isabela for some time. There is no comment in reference to a sword or staff that I have not heard, I think.

But it was always different for me. I can not separate the body from the personality. To me, Carver is sweet and shy, and loving. He has cared for me for a long time, I think, but never spoke.

I want that, Velanna. I want someone to hold me when I sleep at night. To come home to, and to be come home to. And if it works out, and we have children, I will make sure that they will be loved. And Creators willing, that they will be a positive force on the shemlen they meet.

Not all humans will betray us. And some of the Elvhen will, as I have discovered to my sadness.”

Velanna sat up, her legs tailor fashion as she thought about Merrill’s words. “I do not know that I can approve. But I know that you do not need my approval.

Still, you will let me know how your experiment is going. Your experiment on the possibility that Shemlen and Elvhen can find some … mutual ground?” wistfully spoken.

“Ah, yes. I believe that I can keep you informed,” Merrill smiled.

Really, this had gone better than she had expected!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... people with principals sometimes find that the principals leave them alone late at night, with no one to give them soup and a cool hand on their forehead when they're not feeling well.
> 
> And sometimes that's enough. It's good to fight for principals and all. But it's good to accept love when you find it too. 
> 
> Just my opinion.


	5. Velanna and Nathaniel

Vigil’s Keep was cold, solid like a granite outcropping in the hills. Sitting up on the parapet in the wind was one way to gain privacy from the hive of Shemlen inside. Busy like ants they were, and not all human, but elves and dwarves could be shemlen, hurried folk. That had been proven true enough. Nature magic, a Keeper’s magic, tended to open one up to what was around. That was why the cold was preferable to sitting in the warm hall with... well, watching Oghren drink for one thing.

“Seranni,” Velanna spoke it, her sister’s name scattered in the howling of the Amaranthine wind.

To the Dalish, clan was everything. The Warden Commander was Dalish. He spoke often enough of his companions here and during the blight as his new clan. Yet he had married a Dalish woman and visited that clan, his wife and their children, when they passed through Amaranthine, or indeed anywhere in Ferelden. Velanna’s line, hers and Seranni’s, would not continue. Seranni was a ghoul, afflicted with the Blight sickness. Velanna was a Gray Warden tainted with Darkspawn blood. King Alistair and Theron Maheriel, Commander of the Gray in Ferelden, to the contrary, Wardens tended not to breed after the Joining infected them with the taint.

Velanna clutched her regret close like a lover. It was all she had. There was regret that she had dragged her sister and their friends away from the clan, opening the small group up to attack by the Darkspawn. Regret that she had believed the Darkspawn and murdered so many Shemlen. she had hated them. Still did. Velanna had murdered them for the wrong reason. It made her as bad as those who hated the Dalish.

Regret was like an acid in her throat as she worried about her sister, down under ground with the Darkspawn Architect and his “people” that she had chosen. Over her sister.

There was still hope that Velanna held onto, but even Velanna was despairing of that slender thread. “So, Seranni,” it was tossed into the wind almost conversationally, “No children for either of us. No clan beyond the Warden for me, and their foes for you.

And the Elvhen here, Seranni, are almost shemlen, except for the Warden Commander. You met him, but he is not the sociable type. He gets what Oghren calls “his Dalish fix” when his wife’s clan migrates through Amaranthine. the residents in this Arling would not dare to attack any of the Dalish here.

That will only last as long as the Warden Commander does. If... when... he has his calling, or is replaced by Weisshaupt, there will be no guarantees of safety.”

A wave of loneliness swept over Velanna, separate from the chill of the wind.

“Velanna?” Nathaniel jolted the Elvhen woman out of the conversation with herself.

“Yes, Nathaniel?” Velanna did not turn around, but the wind carried her voice to his ears.

“You have been out here in the wind for an hour now. May I suggest that you come inside out of the wind?” Nathaniel had to shout to be heard over the noise of weather.

“What are you doing out here, Nathaniel?” Velanna had not called him ‘Shem’ for some years now. And ‘Human’ as an insult was rare these days as well.

“Watching you,” Nate’s lean form was slouched against the doorway, out of the wind. Foolish man, with no cloak, and no magic to protect him.

Grudgingly she looked at him, he had no expression on his face, but the body told Velanna that this was time to go inside. The wind cut off abruptly as they came through the door. Suddenly it was much too warm, though welcome.

“How long were you there?” Velanna asked.

“About an hour,” short spoken as ever, Nate’s sallow face was flushed and burned by wind and cold.

Velanna grumbled internally. Nate grew up here, he should have known what to wear on the parapet. Velanna did not pretend to be surprised, “You did not need to do that.”

“Sigrun told me you looked disturbed when you came back from your patrol with Merrill. I just wanted to check on you,” Nathaniel elaborated.

“For an hour? In the wind?

Nathaniel, you do not need to watch over me,” It was chiding, but on the gentle side.

Nathaniel gave her a small smile, “Velanna, I am always here for you.”

“I know that,” Velanna muttered.

Nathaniel went on, “Besides, that, you were busy working through whatever it was that was bothering you.”

Velanna sighed, “Are you going to ask what it was?”

“Do you want me to?” they had moved down the stairs and were passing through a storage room.

Velanna stopped short, “Yes. I believe I do want you to ask.”

Gravely Nathaniel looked her in the eye, “Velanna, what is bothering you?”

“Go ahead and smile or laugh. I know you want to,” Velanna said instead of answering.

“Would you like for me to stick my tongue out at you as Anders would?” and there was the smile.

“NO!” it was vehement, “Do not be like Anders. But can we just … sit and talk?”

There were old barrels stored in here, long emptied of whatever musty goods they had once held. The human and the Dalish Gray Warden took seats on those. “What is the matter, Velanna?” Nathaniel asked.

“It’s Anders’ new baby,” which it was, short and sweet, for that was what had set Merrill off, Velanna knew.

Whatever Nathaniel had been expecting, it was not that. “Oh,” then “What about Anders’ new baby?”

“Have you ever thought about what your life could have been like? Have you ever wondered about what it would have been if it had turned out like you imagined it as a child?” Velanna was not sure if that sentence made sense, but Nathaniel was nodding his head.

“I have. Keeping in mind that I wanted to be a hero in whatever story my life took. Not the redeemed villain, I don’t think it will ever turn out the way I imagined,” he sounded thoughtful, not sad.

“I don’t think you understand exactly what I was giving up when I chose to become a Warden,” said Velanna moodily.

“Well, why don’t you explain it to me, then,” Nathaniel was patient.

Velanna looked directly at him, “All right. It is the duty of Dalish men and women to have children. It’s the duty of all descendents of the Elvhenar to have pure blooded children. Our people breed too little as it is. And the city elves choose to … to mix their blood with the humans in spite of Alienage custom.

And I chose to put that away to find my sister. Who has disappeared into the Deep Roads, and I may never see again, in spite of the taint in my blood.

Yes, I know that we had separated from the Clan, but it was still something that I would eventually have had to deal with. As would Seranni. Our blood line is now lost to the Dalish.”

“Is that why you scowl whenever Zevran Arainai flirts with a human?” Nathaniel sounded genuinely interested.

“Well, part of it. Part of it is just that Zevran annoys me,” Velanna admitted, “He has no desire to know what it means to be Elvhen.”

Nathaniel was thoughtful, “Say, rather, that he was never brought up to care about it. I understand that he has plenty of children, including one who is half Dalish.”

“Half Dalish, but who has chosen to serve the Fereldan Prince who was sent to the tower. He rejects his heritage,” Velanna growled.

“Or perhaps he chose his father’s heritage, though the Crow assassin part seems to have been tempered by King Alistair’s good influence,” Nathaniel paused, then, “You did not seem to be bothered about children when the Commander married, and had his.”

“I hadn’t thought of it. And I had not seen them. Anders threatens to bring his son here for us all to fawn over,” Velanna groused.

“So long as you were not confronted with the child of a Warden, it was not something you were thinking about?” Nate asked, “Are you regretting the loss of child bearing?”

“That,” Velanna said, “Is the problem. I was not looking forward to having children. So why am I angry now about another Warden having them?”

Nathaniel shook his head, but had no answer. “Are you sure it is children that is bothering you? Are you unhappy here with the Wardens?”

Velanna cocked her head, “Of course this is not what I wished to be doing with my life. But I made a choice, didn’t I? I did not expect to find the friendships here that I have. 

It’s just very different, Nathaniel. Sometimes I do feel alone.”

Nathaniel laughed, “All of us are alone, Velanna. The Warden Commander included. Why else do you think he’s been so particular about creating his own clan?”

“There are many other humans here, Nathaniel,” Velanna chided.

“And so many of them want nothing to do with the son of Rendan Howe. Anders is alone because of his Circle past. Sigrun doesn’t see Oghren as a kindred soul, so they both feel alone.”

“Oghren is married, Nathaniel,” Velanna wondered, “Yes he chooses to be here. He has someone. A wife who loved him enough to marry him and carry his child. Why does he not stay with them?”

Nathaniel laughed, “Oghren being Oghren, why do you ask that?”

Velanna smiled. “I see your point,” she sighed.

“Velanna,” Nathaniel said carefully, “I am your friend. I care about you. You are not alone here. You may have as much of my company as you desire. Or as little.”

“And...” Velanna drew it out, “If I were interested in more?”

Nathaniel gave his crooked grin, “Then you will have it.”


	6. Breeders

The polished wood of the Refectory table shimmered with the light from lanterns above and the firelight beyond. Nathaniel looked at the face of Theron Maherial, Warden Commander of the Gray of Ferelden. Theron Maherial, their leader. There was no gray in Maherial’s hair, even after all these years, and being one of the Elvhen he did not look older than when Nathaniel had first seen him through the bars of Vigil’s Keep dungeon. Maheriel was listening to Anders’ litany of joys and adventures as a first time father. Sitting close by with a mug of ale was Senior Warden Alistair Theirin, King of Ferelden and father of six, looking very much at home and offering suggestions like any other father of a brood of children and not like a king at all. Perhaps brood was the wrong word to use, Nathaniel thought, considering...

Oghren rounded out the group with an enormous tankard he had picked up somewhere that was bigger than Nathaniel’s head. Bigger than Oghren’s head as well. The amusing thing was that the tankard was filled with water, the result of a bet between the Warden Commander and the Dwarf. Oghren was in a foul mood as a result, but involved with the conversation chiming in with his absent parenting advice with regard to his own son, never referred to by name, but called “the nugget”.

It was a mightily masculine gathering, missing Velanna’s silence, and Sigrun’s cheerful laughter. Of course, Justice was missing as well, no longer in Kristoff’s rotting body nor imprisoned in Anders’ lively one, but still, missed.

Alistair, amazingly subtly for the bluff, honest fighter, had re-filled Anders’ mug while the mage’s attention was elsewhere. Alistair had confided in Nathaniel that Anders was probably the only man he knew that had less tolerance for alcohol than the King.

Anders, without Justice to keep an eye on such things, continued to drink from his mug, oblivious to start, but after a partaking for a time of the neverending mug he started giving seriously annoyed looks to Oghren, placing the drinking vessel on the floor away from the Dwarf. Directly in front of Alistair, who took joyful advantage of it.

…..

“Imagine what the baby will grow up to be,” Anders was saying, “A mage, of course. But what if it doesn’t breed true? How will Hawke and I relate to a non-mage child?”

A new voice spoke from the shadows, “Ah, parenthood. An adventure!

I assume, Anders, that you will relate the same way you would to a mage born child, but with fewer fireballs.”

Alistair grinned, “Zev!”

The assassin took a place next to Anders, with Alistair to his back, ostentatiously moving the magically refilling mug out of the king’s reach. “Spoilsport,” muttered Alistair.

Nathaniel did not know the Antivan well, had not been aware that he was a father, although now that he thought of it there had been a number of men and women who had visited Vigil’s Keep as part of the King’s or Queen’s entourages in the past who had looked remarkably similar to Zevran Arainai. Arainai was offering brandy around.

Maker, Nathaniel thought, he was surrounded by Breeders.

Anders refused the brandy, but was drinking from his mug and looking suspiciously at Alistair now. Alistair raised his glass to the mage, “We have two mages, Anders, and I have not noticed any difference in the drama that teenagers bring. They are at the Kinloch Circle now, in training, and write frequently about the competition there, complaints about the teachers. Much what the others say about their tutors.”

Anders shot the king a piercing look, “Is it because they are the King’s children that they can write to you? Because in my day there was no contact with a mage’s family in Kinloch Circle Hold. 

Except for Finn, but he was... different.”

That brought an outright laugh from Maherial. Alistair tilted his head, “I thought you knew, Anders. Kinloch Circle Hold is under royal jurisdiction. Templars there are loyal to the crown of Ferelden, not to Orlais, and education of the community, including parents by their children, is encouraged. We haven’t stopped the lyrium use, but I have hopes that Templars and mages working together will find a way around it.

I only wish that Wynne had lived to see it. Wynne the Healer, of course, not my daughter the Fireball Expert.”

Zevran chimed in, “Not as much sex as when you were there, my dear Anders. Though the prohibition on marriage is on its way to being relaxed.”

Anders looked down into his empty mug, “I am still finding it hard to believe. It can’t be that easy.”

“Easy he says,” Alistair threw hands in the air, “We’re working out an entire new social system in a small society. It’s not easy. Nobody trusts anyone, but at least they’re united against Blood Magic, which is how we got them to work together.

Thank the Maker for Anora, she has more sense in making rules than I have. And how to make people work in cooperation.

Petra is Head Enchanter now. Until, she says, we can lure someone away from another circle with better administration skills.”

“Boring,” Oghren grated out, “Bunch of skirt-wearing-show-offs. 

Hey, Howe. When are you going to jump on the wagon and join the fathers in the group?”

Nathaniel had dreaded this, “I can not say that I have the best example for fatherhood, now can I?

I can enjoy Delilah’s children. That’s enough for me.”

Anders, perhaps to take the heat off of Nathaniel said, “Of course, my own father was nothing to crow about. Burn down a small barn and he turned me over to the Templars! Locked me in an out building until they came too.”

“Bastard,” Alistair reminded the group by pointing to himself, “And my father, while a war hero as yours was, Howe, was not something I wish to emulate.”

Oghren groused, “Whine whine whine. My old man beat the crap out of me, drank more than I do. And look where I am! I have the best kid in the world!

Course you don’t need to beat a kid to teach ‘em to fight. Did I tell you the nugget’s got his own toy axe?”

Maheriel smiled quietly, “Nathaniel, my parents died when I was young. Zevran’s as well. As did Alistair’s.

Our parents do not define us. But we as parents can choose to give our children guidance. Love, perhaps. It need not be the same childhood passed down through generations.”

Nathanial looked his commander in the eye, “And yet we could die at any time. Darkspawn do not only appear during a Blight, Commander. Any one of us could be destroyed much as many families died since the Blight reappeared.”

“I think,” Alistair said soberly, “That we are putting a good deal of pressure on poor Nathaniel. Not that I expect,” he grinned at Howe, “That any amount of force we settle could make you ask Velanna for a walk in the moonlight.”

“Moonlight and Velanna. Two frightening thoughts,” Anders shuddered.

Zevran pointed out, “And moonlight does not mean that either Howe or Velanna wish to be parents. Sex is not just for procreation, my friends.”

Howe blushed, “You all gossip worse than old washerwomen.”

“Because we care,” Anders placed a hand over his heart.

“Have a care,” Nathaniel pointed a finger, not an index, at Anders, “That I don’t shoot you in the arse on the next patrol.”

Anders cowered in mock fear, “I withdraw in the face of your incredible brooding demeanor! And me, not even on regular patrols...

No more jokes about Velanna! Besides, she’d kick said arse!”

Howe took a pull from his mug, “Aye, she would, wouldn’t she.”

Comfortable. These were friends, even as they moved on with their lives, he would move on with his in the manner in which he chose. Nathaniel examined Anders, not the same man he had once known. Worn, but with something a little lighter than the desperate carefree attitude he had worn like a coat when they’d all first come to Amaranthine.

Who would have thought that all these damaged men would live on, heal, and have come together in this place? Bah. Maudlin.

Perhaps it was time to look to the future. Which he wanted to be with Velanna, regardless of whether or not they chose to have children. Time would tell.


	7. Home Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anders has a home to return to now.

Marion heard the door to the main room blow open, and her spouse cheerfully greeting Merrill before the door slammed closed. The howling of the wind was muted slightly once the door had closed, replaced by the clunking of firewood. Marion could hear the pile topple, could visualize Merrill and Anders chasing the split chunks across the carpet.

Varric finished nursing with a quiet pop, eyes closing despite the noise. Marion cuddled the baby onto a cloth covered shoulder, rubbing his back and waiting for the small eruption of white onto the cloth, and then the soft relaxed weight of a sleeping baby.

This was nice, she thought, shifting her child. Her baby, hers and Anders. Varric’s hair was soft and downy and dark, but sparse. Would it ever lighten to Anders’ tawny shade? Marion tried to imagine a tiny Anders with the original Varric’s healthy mass of chest hair. Chuckling, Marion rose, tucked baby Varric into the wooden cradle, checked the banked fire, and went to take charge of her spouse.

“Marion!” Anders tripped over a piece of firewood to draw her into an ale scented hug.

Marion snuggled into the embrace, “What have you been up to, love?”

“Mischief!” Anders said proudly, “And bragging about all your hard work, love!”

Marion was perfectly content to stand in his arms for a while, “Who was at the keep tonight?”

Anders was a little overloud, but not enough to wake little Varric, “Carver wasn’t!”

Merrill giggled, still on her knees picking up firewood. Marion squeezed her husband, “Carver was here entertaining Merrill.”

Taking a homemade twig broom from the hearth the Dalish Elvhen brushed crumbs of bark and splinters of wood into a pile on the stone flags. Straightening the cushions of the settle before the fire, she pulled it pointedly closer to the warmth and bid them both a good night before climbing the ladder to her curtained loft. “Is Carver still here?” Anders was looking up at the curtain.

“Maker, no!” Marion said without thinking, then loudly, “Although there would be nothing wrong if he had decided to stay.”

A laugh came from behind the curtain, making Marion smile before she turned to her husband and wiggled eyebrows at the man, “Of course, I am perfectly happy to have you all alone.”

Marion’s stamina was still weak from childbirth. Anders guided her, still wrapped in his embrace, and clumsily pulled her down into his lap on the settle. Breathless laughter was followed by the relative silence of a warm and lengthy kiss. “I missed you,” Anders murmured into Marion’s dark curls.

Marion laughed comfortably, “Missed me? Out drinking at the keep?”

Anders’ huff of breath in her ear sent shivers down Marion’s spine, even after blood and catastrophe and marriage and a baby. “It’s nothing like ‘Wicked Grace’ at the Hanged Man.

Maker, how I miss that!”

Marion pecked his cheek, “I miss that too.

I miss Isabela and Fenris,” Anders gave a snort about Fenris, “and Varric, and Aveline and Donnic.”

Even after all this time the absence of Sebastian’s name was jarring. Anders rushed into the emptiness, “You miss drinking and beating me at cards!”

“I miss it all. I miss the awful stewed rat, Corf’s piss poor ale, the noise ,the smell, the games of Never Have I Ever, and Diamondback too.”

“And you don’t miss?” Ander asked curiously.

Marion cleared her throat, “Justice,” and to Anders noise of disapproval, “I will not lie to you about that, Anders. I never have.

I do not miss being bloody Champion of Kirkwall, the blood mages, giant spiders, the Qun or the book of Koslun, Tal Vashoth, Meredith and the Gallows, so many things, Anders.

But we did leave loved ones behind. I hope that Bodahn and Sandal are safe and happy in Orlais. That Orana is happy with her husband. Life is a constant temptation to write to them. To go and see them.”

“Never to Orlais, Love,” Anders rubbed his hand along Marion’s arm.

Marion mocked him, “What? I shall never see the Grand Cathedral?”

Anders squeezed his wife, “Perhaps if I promise not to blow it up?” and squeezed her again when Marion growled sleepily, “Yes, I know. I owe you. I am your humble husband and lover, and shall serve you all the remaining days of our life together.”

He felt the woman he loved relax against him, “I love you, Marion,” he whispered in her ear. And when she fell asleep in his arms, Anders carried his Hawke to bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading. I just so like the idea that for once there might be a happy ending.


End file.
